OOPS!

OOPS!

By LuAnn Williamson

           “It worked!” Doctor Peter Parkinson mumbled quietly to himself. He took a moment to congratulate himself that the time machine that he’d been working on, along with many of colleagues, seemed to be functional.

He looked around at the space that had been, well, continued to be in the past, the University Park. But instead of the well mowed lawns and groomed flower beds, there lay bits of construction rubble and weeds peeking out from around the debris. Instead of throngs of students, the entire area seemed deserted.

Doctor Parkinson, totally baffled by the changes, decided to walk on. He chose to go east, since east was downhill. East was also the direction of the off campus housing. Hopefully he could get some answers there.

He walked several blocks before he came on two young men, walking down the street, both rather unkempt and carrying firearms. He could barely tell a rife from a shotgun himself, but he guessed the man on the left had a rifle and the other a shotgun.

Even if he did feel a little intimidated, he decided that fortune favors the bold. At least that had been his motto over the many years of his career.

“Excuse me, Gentlemen,” He took a few steps closer.

“What do you want?” the man to his left said. But it came out all run together so it sounded more like “Whaddouwan.”

“I just have a question for you,” he slowly put his hands in the air to show he was no threat. “Could you tell me what happened at the University?”

“What’s a University?” Doctor Parkinson took a long look at him. Dirt streaked across beige skin and dark brown eyes were staring out from under a camo baseball cap. A hunting style jacket, ripped in several places and tattered jeans along with boots that were taped together with what looked like electricians tape completed the look.

“Remember what Grandma said,” the man on his right told the other man. Parkinson was beginning to wonder if there was some form of mental retardation was involved.

“There was a place called the University up on the hill. ‘Cpet she calls it “Uselessversity.” This man was wearing a cowboy hat that was at least a size too big, black and dusty and worn over a dusky skinned face. He wore a tattered hoodie with the logo from a band that Parkinson did not recognize. He had on camo pants that didn’t seem quite as battered with sport shoes that had seen better days.

“Grandma said it was full of stuffed shirts and people full of hot air that thought they were better than everybody else, just ‘cuz they could afford a degree.”

Parkinson was offended by this but decided that the wisest course of action was not to upset the people with the firearms.

“Where is this Grandma you mentioned? Who is she? Does that mean you are brothers?”

“Not bio brothers. Just…neighbors. We all gotta stick together… so we can fight off raiders and all.” It was the man on the right that spoke. “Grandma is one of the few oldsters. She was around when the whole thing began. She must be immune since she never did get sick. She and the rest, about twenty in all, gathered us up. The ones that were born after the pandemic was over, plus a few that were kids when it hit. You know how a very few of us kids could fight it off and survive. Then we’re…immune. Can’t get it again.”

Peter Parkinson looked around. There was corn growing in the medians where the flowers blossomed. Well at least till a drunken frat boy wiped them all out with his car. He’d overheard the gardeners saying it job security. He could see what looked like unripe pumpkins in the distance. There was grass sprouting between the cracks in the sidewalks that the University had just re-paved last year. Well, last year in his time. The asphalt of the roads through campus were cracked and buckled; potholes abounded. In some places the roads were missing altogether.

A woman stuck her head out of one of the doors. Long, greasy looking hair fell into her eyes. A baby, clad only in a diaper, was across her hips. In her other hand, there was what he thought was a semi-automatic rifle.

“He got any food?” Her voice was shrill, it grated on his nerves. The men looked at him. He shook his head. It never dawned on him that he might need food for a quick jaunt into the future. They’d agreed to twenty years, time enough to understand the language and customs but enough time to see what the future might hold.

“If he ain’t got no food, he’d better be moving on before he becomes food.” She pointed to the two dogs, Doberman mixes, he guessed. They looked very thin and when he took a closer look, the men looked near starvation, too.

“Now Lucy, the man on the left said, “that aint’t no way to talk to a stranger.”

“How did you know I’m a stranger?”

He wondered where these people had gotten their atrocious grammar. Was it from the mysterious Grandma?

“Just cuz’ you ain’t from around here. I know everybody in the neighborhood.”

Parkinson looked around again. In the area with many stately older homes, well preserved, these houses looked neglected. It almost seemed like they were sad. But that was ridiculous. Some of the houses were apparently burned down, a few more were missing the rooves and some had other damage. The home that the woman had retreated into was one of the few that seemed intact, even if most of the windows were boarded up.

“I’ve come a long way, looking for my…” he thought quickly and came up, “my family.”

Bull Shit!” The man on the right expelled the word as if the word was nasty. “Those shoes,” he gestured to the leather loafers that the Doctor took great pride in wearing. “You couldn’t walk a mile, maybe two in those things.” He paused a few seconds. Where’s your backpack? Or your canteen?”

Doctor Peter Parkinson felt his face drawing up into a scowl. He forced himself to relax. 

“Com’on,” the man on left said. He walked a few feet to what was left of the decorative brick wall that divided the school from the neighborhood. Slightly more than seat high, he pulled himself up easily. It took Peter a few tries to get himself up there. The man, who had been standing on his right, took a seat on the doctor’s right.

“I’m Jason, street name Snake. This is Raul, he indicated the darker man off to his left, street name Spike.”

“I’m Doctor Peter Parkinson.” He debated offering his hand but almost nobody shook hands any more, even in his time.

“Bull Shit!” Jason spat. “He’s dead. Grandma says she saw his body.”

He felt the blood rush out of his face. He didn’t need a mirror to know how pale he was.

“I’m his…son. What happened?” he could barely get the words out around the fear that seemed lodged in his throat.”

“They hung him. Him and his whole crew, right over there.” He pointed to where the bell tower once stood. “Right from the tower.” He’s the one who started this whole mess.”

“What do you mean by whole mess?”

“Were you living under a rock?” The one called Raul asked.

“What did you do, raid a K-mart along the way?” Jason gestured to his body. “Ain’t no more clothes stores ain’t been raided.”

This made Doctor Parkinson angry. His clothes where from Von Mar, in the top of the line department. He’d always taken pride in his appearance. Even in Medical School, he spent his birthday and Christmas money on clothes. He bit back the snide remarks he wanted to make about their unwashed appearance and now, close up, by the smell of them.

He thought fast. “I brought them with me,”

Jason shook his head, “Man you sure are a strange one. You look like you just came out of the twenties. He noticed the watch. 

“Nice watch,” Raul said. He was about to say ‘thank you,’ when Raul said, “You can leave it with me.”

“What?” He sputtered. “That’s Cartier! Where would you get watch batteries?”

“Batteries are a dime a dozen,” he said, motioning with his rifle. “Survivalist packed lots of batteries but few watches.

He gave the man a very sour look, but as he noticed the man’s hand inching toward what he assumed was the safety, he unbuckled it. Then he wondered if he would have it back when he arrived at his own time. If he arrived at his own time. He slowly handed it over.

“Now, tell me more about “this whole mess,” you were talking about. Assume that I was living in a cave…or a fallout bunker.”

“About thirteen years ago, a bunch of scientists up there on the hill, they got this grand idea,” Jason stated to say. “They were going to cure the common cold, once and for all time.”

He could remember faculty discussion on that subject. They had wanted him to head up the project. He hadn’t agreed yet, but he was fairly confident that he would do it, if asked.

“First year or two, nobody got so much as a sniffle or a sore throat.” Jason picked up a stalk of grass and put into his mouth and started chewing on the end. Peter had to stifle a giggle at how ridiculous he looked, grass stem hanging out of his mouth.

“The next year, it all turned bad. Near as anybody knowed, one strain of the cold combined with another strain of the flu. Almost everybody got sick. Then they got really, really sick and most of them died. Like I said, some of the little kids could fight it off and live, like us.”

He looked at them closely. He was bad at guessing ages and these two looked like they’d had a lot of unfiltered sunshine and stress in their lives.

“I was real old to live, I was ten, but I did,” Jason said with a smug look on his face. Grandma said my case probably would have been written up in the medical journals, if we still had them.

“I was seven and I lived,” Raul chimed in.

“Are you sure you’re still alive? You like a zombie to me,” Jason wisecracked.

This resulted in Raul reaching behind Paul, attempting to smack Jason, almost knocking Peter off his perch.

“Were there zombie? Real zombies?” Peter asked.

“No, not real zombies, like brains eating, shuffling around moaning, straight out of comic book type. But some people wandered around outside, looking for I don’t know what.” He took a deep breath. “We called them zombies.”

“Just a few people left alive in a few months. Even with quaten-teems in place and National Guards. They didn’t help. They died, too. Survivalist died. Just the anti-baxters lived.” Raul said.

“Anti-vaxers,” Jason corrected. Don’t you listen when Grandma gives her lessons?”

“When things started getting real bad,” Jason resumed. He pulled the grass out of his mouth & gave it a toss. “The mob formed. They stormed the University. They grabbed most of the Professors, whether they had anything to do with the project or not. They marched them out at gunpoint. Hung most of them, shot some of them and burned the buildings. It took a lot of gasoline from the cars to make the buildings burn. At least that’s what Grandma says.”

“I seen the man with the great big bulldozer come by and push over all the buildings. It was EPIC!” It was Raul that dropped that piece of information

“Didn’t anyone stop them? Or him?”

“Hell no, you gonna argue with a man on a bulldozer?” Raul asked. “I LOVED watching him. I dunnow where he got the equipment…or the gasoline. It’s all gone now. Gasoline, propane, we just use firewood. At least these old houses have fireplaces.”

“We use candles mostly although a few of us have found survival flashlights that you have to crank and crank to get to work.” Jason said.

Out of habit, Peter looked down to his wrist where his watch should be.

“This is been very enlightening,” he told them. He fished in his pockets and pulled out a half a box of candy. He offered it to the men.

“You’ve got candy?” Raul shifted from side to side, and bounced up and down, almost like dancing. Peter surmised that it had been a while since they’d seen hard candy.

“Can I have some?” Jason asked, hands outstretched eagerly.

He handed Jason the box. “You’ve got to split it equally.”

Peter winced inwardly as grubby fingers extracted the fruity treats.

“Thank you both very much,” he said.

“Thank you,” but it sounded more like “tank-q” around Jason’s mouth full of candy.

“Thanks a lot,” which sounded like “tanks a wat.”

Doctor Peter Parkinson trudged up the hill to the pick-up location. They were unsure of what was the range on the time machine, so he wanted to stand as close to the spot where he arrived. At least he was the only person around, which was his advantage. It was hard to find the exact place without familiar landmarks.

He heard the soft buzz he’d heard on the way forward in time that came from the new machine. He’d drawn the short straw to be the first human to try the new gadget. Now he wasn’t sure how lucky he’d been. 

A few dogs and a surplus chimpanzee from the biology lab had made the trip but this was the first time for a human. And there was one thing he was sure of. This was going to be his last time. He did not want to know how people would remember him.

He closed his eyes. There would be time for others to study the effects of disorientation from the time machine moving through time instead of space. Right now he had mission to stop the vaccine that hadn’t even been invented yet. And if he had any influence, never would be.